Prologue to Sorrow
by bloodcraft
Summary: Squ+Z ~ Getting a gift from his leaving best friend (Seifer), Zell finds himself interwoven in World War far more than he could have imagined. Unknowingly, within his possession and under his enslavement, Zell has control of the most powerful being on th


Prologue to Sadness - 1 -  
The Lion Heart 

Merton is a realm of love. But not the type of love in any _true love_ story. It is lustful and passionate, jealous and hate-filled. Attachment and owning of souls are bred into the people's blood. The people worship their masters, giving themselves completely over to the ruling authority. And the people give themselves without question, hesitation, or doubt. They love their rulers, without caring of consequence.

They call them _Hearts_. The people of power, people who possess abilities beyond that of any normal man. 

Over 10,000 years ago, the people of Merton were so in completely in love with the Heart-Race that they gave them special privileges. Today, the descendents of those _Hearts_ are the nobility ruling common man. 

Hearts, more specifically, are summoners. They are the gifted few of whom possess the abilities to bring to life creatures of mass power and colossal destruction. They are the trademark symbol of Merton, the Gate-Keepers who protect and defend the country. But these protectors have withered out of the noble bloodline. No Heart had been born in Merton, or anywhere in Gaia, for almost 1,000 years. 

Without their protectors to vanquish oppressing forces, the Mertoni became prey. The broken government could not hold its own against its enemies. Buildings crumbled, towns burned, and the people pleaded every moment for a new Heart to be birth. The Mertoni believe there must be salvation.

As in all tales of old, salvation comes at a high cost. Suffering and plague must be unleashed upon a people time and again before a savior can be born.

Merton crumbled. Today it is simply a slave country. The name Merton became an old name, and its people renamed the _Slave-Race_.

But, of course, a Hero -- the savior -- must be born. 

While the country of Merton continued to fight against every strong government, and as the people died, they waited for their king to give them news. They needed some hope. But they would never question their king. As the race of love, they unhesitatingly continued to fight loosing battles for the government they loved with all their hearts. 

Eleven, almost twelve years ago, the people of Merton received news of the queen giving birth to not only the heir of the kingdom, but to a Heart.

The child was named Leonhart. _Leon_, after the type of magickal beast he would be able to summon, and _hart_, to tell all that he is the light in the darkness of Merton.

Leonhart was the prize of his country at birth. Gifts of many were sent to the king and queen for the child. The people waited, and fought against their enemies, biding their time, falling back, allowing more of their lands to be swept away from them. They waited for the single moment when Leonhart would be ready to drive back their foes and vanquish all who dare try to steal the lands from the realm of love.

The castle was restricted. Only the highest ranking members of the noble government and highly decorated warring generals were allowed past the tall black walls of Sugar Keep. And only Leonhart's teachers, a few priests, family, guards, and some same-age boys were allowed near him.

Leonhart spent most of his time in study. He saw his father and mother during meals, was blessed by priests each night of the full moon and other occasions, and given time to spend playing with the same-age boys. Though the teachers looked down upon Laguna for allowing Leonhart boys to be his friends, the king knew Leonhart needed to know the people he was to save. Leonhart needed to know what it was liked to be loved and worshiped by the people of Merton. Leonhart needed to feel the gaze of which everyone would look at him with.

To help keep Leonhart safe, he was never without a guard. Even while playing inside, Leonhart had a guard beside him. It wasn't that Laguna was fearful of assassination or kidnapping. Honestly, Kerna and the other countries trying to take over Merton couldn't have been _less_ interested in the Merton government. Those other countries simply spent their time destroying armies and moving closer. It was years ago, maybe hundreds of years ago, that Kerna and the other countries all by completely forgot Merton once had a fully working government.

Leonhart had a guard because he was a Heart. He was untouchable. Any Merton looking up him would automatically love him so dearly they would die for him. They would be drawn to him, in the ways they're drawn to nobility, except further. To touch him would be a gift none would dare dream of. Even his teachers never drew close enough to touch him, though they desired to do so more than anything else. Without his permission, touching him was forbidden. And most that were given permission, like Leonhart's gunblade teacher to teach him how to hold the weapon better, shied away and kept his hands firmly from Leonhart's skin.

The guard at Leonhart's side was to keep people from touching him. Most would rather fall upon a sword than disgrace the body of the Heart, but controlling desires was very difficult for some. The guards helped remind people to keep their control in line, remind them that touching Leonhart's flesh was a sin.

And it is sinful to touch a Heart.

Until they're ready, fully matured at the age of 16, a Heart is vulnerable to corruption. If they are mounted, made love to, or even raped before they're fully matured, their bodies become no longer theirs. The Heart's body becomes the person who mounted them. And once mounted, the Heart's soul becomes vulnerable. After the soul is given over, finally the heart itself can be taken. Once the trinity of the Heart is taken, they forever belong to that lover. 

All Hearts are untouchable because no Merton dares believe they are worthy to own a Heart. They love the Hearts, would die for them, would give anything to make the Hearts happy, but they dare never wish to control the ones they love.

Leonhart was only hugged by his mother, and rarely. Raine wanted to be his mother, and at times was unable to keep herself from throwing her arms around Leonhart. It was understandable, and completely acceptable to all those around.

Laguna declined from touching Leonhart all but a few occasions. He was too fearful of what touching Leonhart might do to him, how much more he would love Leonhart than he already did. 

Laguna hugged Leonhart for the first time when the boy was five. Leonhart had already mastered the gunblade so well he could defeat his teacher without trying. It was an impressive sight to watch a five-year-old take down a 230lb warrior in full armor. Laguna swept Leonhart up into his arms that day, hugging his son tightly. He'd never been prouder. Leonhart hugged his father back, astonished by the touch but overjoyed that he'd made his father so prideful.

The rest of Leonhart's education continued at the increased pace of which he'd learned to handle a gunblade. At age six Leonhart had surpassed his teachers in the knowledge of politics and economics. By age eight, he knew over 50 languages, as well as the customs of over 80 countries. He'd mastered dance, hand-to-hand combat, and could map out a room with a single glance - including guard positions, exits, any threat - by age of ten.

Leonhart had a photographic memory. He knew histories of countries 1,000 years into the past. He'd learned advanced mathematics, understood philosophies of different religions, knew the workings of governments threatening Merton. He was a prodigy child.

Aside from his powers of Heart advancing him beyond all normal ability, Leonhart grew more beautiful each day. His skin was the silky pale white of all Mertoni skin. He'd inherited his mother's soft features, including her chin, cheekbones, and wrists. His soft chocolate hair hung into his grey eyes that looked like lion's eyes when they glowed in power.

He remained humble in his status. Both a prince and the first Heart is 1,000 years, Leonhart could have become a man of greed. Except, no Mertoni can feel greed in such a way. Lust for money and power, naturally, feed along the ranks of men as they would in any other country. But the Mertoni do no feel greed when it comes to their own people. Slavery isn't possible as it is in other countries. No man could ever look harshly upon his fellow man and demand to control him.

Control was bred long ago into the Mertoni. But it is a control through love. Merton is a realm of love. Lustful and passionate, jealous and hate-filled, the Mertoni are humble to the ruling authorities. The people give themselves completely -- without question, without hesitation, without doubt -- for love.

Eleven, almost twelve years ago, the people were overjoyed at the birth of Leonhart. And now, today, the prince has been thrust into a carriage with his uncle to be taken to the Falinonia Mountains. Sugar Keep was going to be attacked, and King Laguna dare not wish his son in the line of fire.

The carriage, part of a larger caravan with a number of guards, held no gold. Leonhart's uncle wasn't a worth target for marauders to attack, because Merton -- or the Slave-Nation as known outside the country -- was being drained of all its riches. There was no jewels to plunder, and no slaves to taught stealing. The caravan was unimportant.

Leonhart was dressed in clothing much lower that his noble rank. He looked more like a slave, like his uncle's slave. No one was supposed to know the Prince of Merton hid in the carriage.

The road was bumpy. Not much care could be given to the roads, the war-effort took too much of the kingdom's gold and energy. With each dip into the pot-holes along the dirt path, the carriage threatened to break a wheel. Yet it stayed together, sturdy and strong. It was almost as though the carriage knew it was housing Leonhart.

The young prince, only eleven, sat in the slave-clothes, his eyes trailing along the countryside that passed. The trees were large, huge in his young eyes. Everything looked so green and beautiful. A few times, Leonhart saw deer scatter deeper into the woods as the carriage bumped along, the deer frightened by the loud sound.

He glanced back to his uncle to smile and point out the wildlife. This small trip to the Falinonia Mountains excited Leonhart. It was all so amazing. He was virgin in his experiences outside Sugar Keep. Never before had he left the grounds guarded so well by the black stone walls. He'd seen wild animals except the ones that were caught and _put_ in the small wood of Sugar Keep -- for him and others to hunt. This, here _out_, was new, and everything so beautiful.

Leonhart's uncle smiled at the boy. His eyes watched the child's excitement with a fatherly gaze, keeping quiet unless Leonhart asked him a question about whatever the boy saw. His hands wrested on the circular crystal top of the wooden cane that normally helped him walk. A thick wool cloak heavied his shoulders with green, matching the wool hat upon his head. A gold-handled sword was strapped to the uncle's side, a hand leaving the cane to finger it every once in a while -- just to know it was there. Protecting Leonhart was everything.

Leonhart's cousin, the uncle's son, sat outside the carriage. In the driver's seat, he scanned the scenery around carefully with pinched eyes, his own hand fumbling lightly with his own gold-handled sword. The driver next to him flicking the reins while clicking his tongue, _faster horses_.

From his small gaze inside the carriage, Leonhart saw a flicker in the woods. Then the sound of bird-wings flapping heavily, a mass of them bursting into the air -- blackening the sky.

Quickly turning back to his uncle, this time without a smile, Leonhart watched as the older man's eyes widened and the grasp on the gold-handled sword tightened. White-knuckled, the uncle called up to his son. 

"What is it?!" The uncle's voice was desperate. Perhaps the tone might have egged the marauders on harder, faster. 

When the villains jumped from the brush, they quickly un-horsed the guards. Leonhart's carriage stopped, as did the second one behind them. War screams sounded from outside.

The slicing of blade leaving sheath made Leonhart jump, his gaze leaving the scene outside to look at his panicked uncle. The gold-handled sword was ready, eyes glancing from door to door, waiting for the attack.

"Quiet, child," the uncle told Leonhart with forced calm. 

Leonhart stayed quiet, though his hand moved instinctively to where his Revolver should have been. Except, he was dressed in servant clothing, not even given a dagger. His long-ago mastered weapon was laying in its case back at Sugar Keep. He hadn't been allowed to bring anything that would mark him as Prince, that included the gunblade.

The door on the uncle's side opened, and before the old man could deflected, large hands reached in and pulled him out. Leonhart listened as the heavy weight of a body hit dirt, and a heavy grunt eased from his uncle's throat. The man was alright, but bruised from the throw.

Next, a man filled the doorway to the carriage, eyes beadily looking for the _goods_. When Leonhart was the only thing, the man's hungry snarl turned into an angry one.

With his lower lip quivering, the man reached forward to Leonhart. 

"C'mere, boy," spat the man.

Leonhart's only choice was to dive out the other door, probably into another danger of swinging swords as guards tried to defend the carriage. Thick fingers were tugging at the leg of Leonhart's pants, trying to pull him closer.

Outside, Leonhart heard his uncle's plea. "Leave the boy! He's simple minded."

But the man's fingers had tugged Leonhart's leg close enough to grab a hold. The prince slid from the cushioned seat, his butt hitting the wooden floor of the carriage hard before being dragged across it and fumbling out of the carriage.

"That's it, Hench," Leonhart's assaulter yelled over.

"What?!" yelled a rugged man, dressed poorly and obviously not happy with this attack. This _Hench_ walked towards Leonhart's uncle before kneeling down in front of the man. 

Leonhart watched his uncle's face pulled up from the dirt by his hair, Hench sneering down. 

"Where's the gold?" Hench asked.

"There is no gold," replied the uncle.

Leonhart's uncle grunted in pain when his face was thrust back into the rocky dirt of the road. He was yanked up again by his hair, the question repeated. "Where's the gold?"

"...no gold..."

Disgusted with Leonhart's uncle, Hench shoved his face back into the dirt again before standing up to kick the man's side a few times. White blood dripped from the uncle's face, sprinkling the dirt road.

Leonhart was noticed again after Hench yelled around at his men.

"Boy!" snapped Hench.

Leonhart looked up from where his uncle lay in pain, seeing behind Hench a sword rip from his cousin's chest. More white blood, and Leonhart's cousin fell into the dirt. Dead.

"You speak Jerben?" Hench asked.

Oh yes, they were speaking another language. Leonhart had forgotten to pay attention. People say that when you're under the wire, when you're alone and vulnerable, that's when you know how strong you are. Leonhart, in this most definite vulnerable place, had forgotten his training.

"Jerben?!" Hench repeated, louder this time, eyes glaring down at Leonhart.

The prince's lack of response forced Hench to the conclusion that _ no, the boy didn't speak his language_. Turning to a fellow marauder, Hench snapped "Get the fucking kid to talk!"

He was a less intimidating man, a man of lighter skin color than the others -- Leonhart made mental note of the race attacking him: Jerbina. Dark skin and eyes, but light hair. They were a weaker race, but had taken up scavenging and looting. It's how they made their way in the world. This lighter skinned man was not Jerbina.

"You understand me?" the lighter-skinned man asked softly, kneeling close to Leonhart. He was speaking common-tongue Mertoni but with an accent, that of the eastern area. Perhaps a Helonka or Knepshin.

Leonhart allowed himself a small nod. He was Mertoni, so of course he should speak the language. If he didn't answer now, they might think him deaf. And as good of a plan as his uncle had for calling Leonhart _simple minded_, the prince knew better than to play that dumb. He might look like a waste of time, offing him would be easier than taking him with them.

And, seeing the men around from the corners of his eyes, Leonhart could tell the Jerbina were disappointed with their catch. This _servant__ boy_ was the only thing there!

"Good," the lighter-skinned man said, again speaking softly. "Don't be afraid." His hand moved forward to Leonhart, gently laying on the prince's leg, scanning the boy's body. He then stood, turning to Hench. Changing language, the man spoke again. "He's a little scared, maybe bruised from Tompin's handling," -- the man that had pulled Leonhart out of the carriage sneered and snorted, arms crossed -- "but he seems fine otherwise."

The lighter skinned man had green eyes, more common to Knepshin. And he had a heavy tongue. Leonhart guessed that Knepshin was this man's homeland.

His eyes darted before he understood what took his attention. His uncle was trying to move, to stand. His palms were pressed into the rocky dirt road, shoulder blades sticking out as he tried to push weight onto his arms. His legs seemed useless.

"Leave him!" his uncle mumbled, body weighed down too heavily by pain. 

Hench waved a hand carelessly. Anther man stepped forward, reaching down and picking the uncle's face from dirt. His other hand held up a sword, then drove it down, straight into the uncle's eye. White blood splattered, dripping down the blade as the man pulled it out. With a heavy thud, Leonhart watched the deadweight of his uncle's corpse send a dust cloud up.

Turning from the sight, Leonhart looked back over to the man in charge. Hench was looking down at him.

"What do you think?" Hench asked Tompin and the Knepshin. 

"Kill 'em," Tompin grunted, a dagger in his hand, using the blade to pick at the dirt under his nails.

"Berdokn?" Hench said. 

The Kenpshin turned to look down at Leonhart. He knelt down again, slowly reaching forward and taking Leonhart's hand. Leonhart held back the shock at being touched so gently. His eyes watched carefully as the Knepshin -- Berdokn -- turned his hand over. Berdokn's thumb caressed Leonhart's palm, sending tingles up the prince's arm. A wave of fire started to consume Leonhart, Berdokn's thumb gently caressing while the second hand raised to his chin. Another shockwave of tingles, and more fire burned. Leonhart watched Berdokn's eyes studying his body, everything else seeming to blur around him. The fire burned brightly, making Berdokn's face almost glow out from the reddened surroundings.

Then the fire ended, color turned to normal, everything clearing.

Berdokn was standing, looking back to Hench, speaking. Leonhart couldn't hear properly. Blood pounded between his ears, and after all the fire and pleasure he took from the small touches, the repercussion was severe. He felt sick, though hid it well. His stomach churned, making it feel like an Ultima was cast in his belly. He pleaded within his mind for Berdokn to keep his hands to himself. Leonhart had not given the man permission to touch him.

"I got 'em!" The grunted Jerben words from Tompin's mouth startled Leonhart so badly he almost jumped. Before the prince could react, he was thrown over Tompin's shoulder, the large hands holding onto the back of his thighs. Though Leonhart hadn't given permission to Tompin to touch him, this touching didn't send any shockwaves. It was angry, and there was no flesh-to-flesh contact. 

Leonhart didn't struggle. He simply allowed Tompin to carry him away, the caravan destroyed. Guards lay bleeding, and his uncle and cousin were dead.

As he was tossed onto the back of a horse, his hands tied, Leonhart thought hard about making a run for it now. He could send a few blasts, a few magicakal shocks that might disorient the men for a while. Perhaps get back to his home to see his mother and father again.

Another tingle-wave filled Leonhart. He turned, quickly, to his right, away from his escape rout. Tompin had jumped onto the horse behind him. It was the Berdokn touching again -- without permission.

"Don't _ accidentally_ drop him!" Berdokn snapped at Tompin. Tompin grunted before replying.

"I heard ya before," snapped Tompin. "About him being a pleasure slave. Damaged pleasure slaves aren't a good thing, I _know_!"

Berdokn's hand squeezed Leonhart's leg as the man turned to look at the prince. Again, he used Merton-tongue.

"You'll be alright," Berdokn said softly. He hand moved away, the waves of tingles stopping immediately.

The horse kicked forward, Leonhart bouncing in his tethered place against Tompin's chest.


End file.
